


tempo

by falchion



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Based on their support logs, Canon Compliant, M/M, actually kinda more gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falchion/pseuds/falchion
Summary: He was not a fighter who knew how to dance; rather, he was a dancer who knew how to fight.





	tempo

**Author's Note:**

> snorts.. i started writing this over a year ago but it got buried in my 40-something wip folder.. until.. that fe heroes gacha announcement of fkn dancer inigo set me on fire.. 
> 
> based loosely on their support logs!

_**Grave** _

While Saizo, the fifth of his name, considered himself to be a rather cautious person by nature, no man had ever set off his alarms at first glance the way Lord Xander's retainer had. Of course, he was cautious of the entire idea of Nohr as a whole; it was far too convenient for such an alliance to be formed, regardless of the cause. Lord Corrin's intentions did not sit well with him, and neither did the sour glances often traded between the two sides during preparations.

How was it that that saying went again? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? Yes, that was what was happening. Keeping their sworn enemies at an arm's length was as risky as it was wise, and Saizo would take every means necessary to ensure that his duty as the future king's retainer was carried out to it's fullest. And that meant that, despite his personal disagreement with the motions taken, he would perform to the best of his ability regardless.

However, it didn't help that Nohr's retainers were an absolute riot. Of course, what had Saizo expected from a ludicrous nation such as theirs? A thief and a philanderer, amongst others whose oddities he could not even understood if he tried - he felt almost scornful, that his respected position could be compared with this loathsome assembly.

And so, he watched, eyes narrowed at these so called 'friends' who he knew wanted to stab him backwards as much as he did them.

"Good morning," a voice said, and Saizo turned to find himself face-to-face with the Prince Xander's retainer himself. He narrowed his eyes, shifting his left foot back. "I'm Laslow. Your name is Saizo, correct?"

"The fifth of my name," Saizo said, his voice low. This man knew of him, which meant that perhaps he was not as incompetent as he had first thought. He was smart enough to know the names of his foes, and to gather intellect from the no doubt fools that he shared his allegiance with. Perhaps there was more to him that just a-

"The fifth? Is lineage a big thing in Hoshido, then?" he tilted his head, as if pondering the suggestion.

Saizo scowled. "It matters not to outsiders like you," he said, voice sharp. His lineage was something he was proud of within Hoshido, but to a Nohrian… he shook his head. He had no business knowing about Sazio's personal life, and he doubted this flowery man would understand, anyway.

"I guess not, huh?" he said. "Well, I hope we can work well together from now on. Our lieges are the big-shots, so we'll probably be seeing each other a lot."

There were no words that Saizo would rather not hear. "Whatever," he said coldly, his fingers running against the sharpened steel of his shuriken in his pocket, "just don't get in my way. Or else I'll kill you, and make it look like an accident."

 

_**Andante** _

Laslow was up to something; Saizo was sure of it. How curious he was, the so called retainer of the future king of Nohr, spending his free time courting women rather than working the sword. Saizo had no time for soldiers like that, who pursued the frivolities of life over the pledge to his liege.

Yet, Saizo could not keep his attention from him.

He hardly saw the man train. Not even Prince Xander chose to spar with him, instead training with Lord Corrin or even Prince Ryoma, a trait which he found odd to say the least. There was no way that it was because the man wasn't strong - how could he not be, when he served the strongest member of the Nohrian army?

And then, he heard rumours from Nohrian soldiers that Laslow often bested Lord Xander in their fights.

There was something more to it, and the longer Saizo went unable to figure it out, the more irritated he became.

Laslow could be frequently seen with two other Nohrian retainers, who too set Saizo off in suspicions. There was the blond man of many words, who claimed to be a sorcerer yet held a sword like kin, and the red-headed girl with the fiery temper, whose fighting stance and swing was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

No - he had seen it before. Her attacks were reminiscent of those born by Laslow.

Having seen the Nohrian way up close and personal, he knew that these two held the sword differently. It was less aggressive and more defensive, taking more opportunity of timing than of brute force itself. These three soldiers were from elsewhere, and were not of Nohrian blood. That was obvious, from their accents and mannerisms, but those could easily be faked. However, the swing of the blade was ingrained from young and years of practice, and in Saizo's mind told more truth than any words the tongue could speak.

What were three foreigners doing so high up in the ranks of the Norhian castle, and where were they from?

And so Saizo took his next opportunity, pulling Laslow by his collar to the edge of the camp, a kunai waiting dangerously by his side.

"From which land did you come from?" he asked, once they were out of earshot of the nearby soldiers. They were attracting the occasional glance, but Saizo paid them no attention. "And why did you come to this war?"

If Laslow was alarmed by the sudden ambush, his face gave nothing away. Instead, he released himself from the ninja's grip with the pinch of his fingers, before taking a step back with a nod of his head. "Good evening to you too, Saizo," he said, straightening his tunic with both hands. His eyes, however, did not stray from Saizo's face. "How may I help you?" His gaze was guarded, nonchalance feigned. Saizo was quite impressed at the man's ability to hold himself under surprise. However…

"Draw. I refuse to believe that the man Prince Xander chose as a retainer is as incompetent as you," he said. He pulled two kunai from his sleeve, bending down into a crouch. "You must prove yourself to be a man of equal footing to me." With the flick of his wrist he sent one dagger flying, narrowly missing Laslow who had dodged by tilting to the right with milliseconds to spare.

The mercenary threw his hands into the air. "H-Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves here," he started. "Surely there is a better way I can satisfy your demands than with fighting-"

"Enough," Saizo said, spinning two shuriken his way.

And again, Laslow avoided both attacks with a grace that implied it was child's play, his frame not even short of breath against Saizo's advances. He steadied himself, his sword still sheathed. Again, he raised his hands. "Are all Hoshidans this way? Couldn't we perhaps settle our differences over a cup of tea, or-"

"You talk plenty," Saizo bit, "if only you fought that way, too. Now fight, and show me that you don't wish to die right now."

Saizo was on him in a second, another kunai sliding outwards, this time aimed to kill. There was the sound of metal colliding; Laslow had finally drawn his sword. It was made of iron, so he could still draw fast, and he deflected the strike at his throat with utmost precision. Laslow drew his parry to the side, the kunai sliding to the ground, before pulling the sword back into a defensive hold.

It was there again - that curious stance. Saizo narrowed his eyes.

"You like to swing those around a lot, don't you?" Laslow said. There was not even a pant to his breath. Saizo's lip twitched.

"I don't like you," Saizo said, cutting Laslow off before he could spout more nonsense. "The next time we fight, I expect to see you fight in a way that shows exactly how powerful the lord you serve is."

And before Laslow could even ask what it was that he meant, Saizo had disappeared into the shadows that Laslow hadn't even noticed were near.

 

**_Moderato_ **

Saizo the Fifth had always prided himself on his quick wit and foresight, however this was an occasion that he could not have seen coming even if he had tried.

Surrounded by three Faceless, he had no choice but to attack recklessly, injuring himself in the process. It was such a small price to pay for the safety of his lord and those around him, and only a temporary pain to bear for the benefit of the war above.

However, his speed had always been lacking, and it was at that moment that he knew that he was far too late.

He could see it in the corner of his left eye - the swing of the Faceless's club and the strike of Lord Ryoma's back. He saw Raijinto fling from his grip, lodging into the clay beneath as his liege fell to the ground with a grunt, rolling to the side to narrowly avoid the oncoming crush of the creature's fist.

Saizo leapt to his feet, running so he could be there for his lord - to protect his lord, and even sacrifice if he needed to. But he was too late.

The Faceless screeched, bringing its powerful fists downwards once more, straight towards where his Lord lay vulnerable.

Saizo tore his eyes away. He could not watch to see his liege - his duty - collapse.

There was no scream of pain, no feeling of death permeating the air. Saizo did not feel the chill of the sixth sense that he did when his comrades fell - with a start, his eyes came open.

That damned Laslow was there, his iron sword cutting through the Faceless's flesh. Its arm came off, smashing to the ground, and in fury it swung its remaining limb straight towards Laslow's head.

He did not even flinch, stepping to the side with ease. The creature missed, and Laslow stepped once more so he was behind it. It was like watching a predator against prey - one did not stand a chance. Laslow seemed even to be toying with it, each step just out of it's reach, before he eventually grew bored of the spectacle and outstretched his sword once more - this time straight into the Faceless's heart.

It screamed before falling, and then faded into ash. The wind carried it, scattering it across the plain. He sheathed his sword to his side.

"You saved my life," Ryoma said, as Laslow helped him up to his feet.

Laslow shrugged, dusting off his shirt. "It is my duty as retainer, is all."

"You do not pledge to me," Ryoma said, confused. He walked over and claimed Raijinto from the ground. Electricity sparked through it when it was back in his palm.

Laslow shook his head. "As long as we fight this war together, I serve us all."

It almost seemed like he had turned his head as he said that, his gaze skirting over to where Saizo lay injured and eyes wide in shock. Laslow gave him the smallest of smiles, before bowing his head to Ryoma, and disappearing back towards the Nohrian side of the battlefield.

 

_**Allegretto** _

The red moon shone overhead, the camp restless with what was to come. There were too many sick and too many wounded, yet no time for rest as their march continued on. Just for tonight, the army had been granted the luxury of fitful rest, but Saizo would not be sleeping.

He sat by the camp, drinking bitter tea as he kept his wits about on lookout for enemy attackers. It was difficult when your foes could not always be seen, but to a shinobi the inconvenience was decidedly minor. When one spent so much time in the shadows, reading them became less of a difficulty.

The night was silent, with everyone taking advantage of their stop. Occasionally words drifted from the campsite, but there was no point in indulging in late night gossip when their lives were on the line.

But perhaps it was not by choice that Saizo was not sleeping, but because he was unable to. Rest was not something he found easily, with the night-time air often a comfort than a fear. He was always first to raise his hand for overnight watch, for one should be alert when your foes least expect.

Yes, Saizo was a terrible sleeper. Occasionally Kaze would force him to, brother to brother, and although Saizo could best him in a battle of strength, his brother could best him in the battle of wits. He was the only man Saizo ever heeded to, Lord Ryoma and their father aside.

Discontent, he stalked the perimeter of both camps, unable to admit that he felt uneasy about the days ahead. The remaining soldiers had retired to their tents, and a silence descended over the grounds. It was unsettling; the air of death was hanging above them, threatening to descend at any moment, yet they still pressed on. It set a chill to Saizo's bones that he could not pinpoint.

The trees swayed in the wind, the rustling leaves forming the only background noise in the unnatural night. Even when they disappeared, this would not change. Saizo stepped into the darkness of the forest, the shadows welcoming him like home.

Then he heard it - the crack of a twig from not far away. It was so insignificant, but to his trained ears it rang as clear as a bell, and immediately Saizo sprang to his toes. Just upwards ten strides, and then two to the left, He sat atop a tree bough, eyes narrowed to pierce the night.

He was not prepared for what he would see.

Of course, he had heard the rumours through camp. That Lord Xander's retainer was a lover, and also a dancer. Saizo had ignored camp gossip at first, however his mind often relayed that sight he had seen on the battlefield not too long ago. The sight of Laslow fighting that faceless like it was no great deal, and the way he swung his blade tauntingly almost as if he were... playing. He frowned. At the tail end of it all, however, Laslow was still a soldier and, loathe Saizo admit it, a fairly competent one at that. Such pastimes and dalliances with women did not do well for a royal servant, and Saizo knew that Laslow held it beyond himself to know which of the two he lay true to.

He knew that Laslow was a fighter, a warrior of skill, and that he took the sword of utmost importance aside his own very life. Saizo knew his type, being a soldier himself, and he was never wrong when it came to asserting the arsenal of those he'd had the pleasure of both fighting and working together with.

However, today, he was wrong.

Laslow danced alone, like nothing he had ever seen before. It was neither the careful step of Hoshido nor friendly twirl of Nohr, but something that seemed to transcend both. It was so calming, so enticing, and it set Saizo's gaze on edge. And it was then that Saizo realised what Laslow was.

The agility of his step, the sway of his arms and the balance of his hips - it all began to make sense in Saizo's mind, who could simply not understand how a man trained in physical combat could move with a grace that paralleled even that of Azura's. His slender legs accustomed to spins were what drove his angled footing with the blade. The stretch of his arms allowed for his flexible swings and incomparable dodges - Saizo swore, because everything now made sense.

He was not a fighter who knew how to dance; rather, he was a dancer who knew how to fight.

And somehow, that seemed to make the man all the more powerful in Saizo's head.

The edge of unpredictability mixed with mesmerising movement, enough to catch any untrained man off guard. The ability to use his art to cut his foes to the ground, making a show of it and dance of death. It was clear - Laslow was a man unlike any Saizo had ever known before.

"Whos there?" Laslow said suddenly, his voice ringing through the clearing.

Saizo, startled by his sudden voice, made his presence aware with the shaking of the tree as he sat upwards to attention.

Laslow had swung on his feet in a second, moving from mid-dance to a fighting stance, his sword pulled seemingly from the air.

"At ease," Saizo said, lowering himself from the tree. He raised his hands, showing that he was unarmed, and took a cautious step towards the other man.

Laslow's grip on his sword faltered, before he let it to the ground. "Gods," Laslow said, a deep sign escaping him. "Had you been someone else..." He didn't finish his sentence.

"I would be dead, yes," Saizo said. A pause filled the air, and Saizo opened his mouth to speak. "You-"

"How much did you see?" Laslow said, interrupting him.

Saizo blinked. "Of your performance?" he asked, and Laslow nodded. "Maybe five minutes or so. Your dancing is..." he stopped, trying to think of the words to describe how he had felt before. However, nothing would come. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen before."

Laslow turned away so that his face was hidden, and he raised his hand to his mouth. "It... that's my mother's dance," he said. "She's not from here."

Saizo could piece together the meaning to his words. "Does everyone dance like that, then, where you're from?" he asked.

"No," Laslow said immediately. "Only her."

"And you," Saizo said.

Laslow swallowed, before smiling. "Yes, and me."

Saizo sat by the foot of a tree, watching as Laslow continued his dance. He was shy at first, his steps faltering and slower than they had been before, but Saizo was a silent observer, to the point where Laslow could almost forget he was there.

Light on his feet yet strong with his movements was what Laslow was, and for the first time in a while, Saizo could see that there was more to a man than the hold of a sword in his hand.

 

**_Allegro_ **

Saizo swung his knife forward, but Laslow was too fast, the edge of his blade only hitting the sleeve of his shirt. It did not even cut, simply sliding across as Laslow rolled out of the way with ease.

"Curses," Saizo spat, tossing his knife to the side and pulling out shuriken from his sleeve. These were harder to avoid; Laslow swept himself sideways, barely avoiding the metal stars as they narrowed his steps, forcing him into a corner.

"There's nowhere left to hide," Saizo said, pulling his last knife from his waist. He held it before Laslow's face, who was staring defiantly towards him with darkness in his eyes.

Laslow smiled, a wide grin that caught Saizo off-guard by the genuineness of it. One second, then two, and then Laslow was gone. Saizo felt his frame toppling to the ground as Laslow wrapped his legs around him, dragging him to the floor.

He fell with a grunt, the impact winding him as he rolled to the side. Laslow stood above him, a smirk to his face as he lowered his foot over Saizo's leg, arms settled on his waist. "How many times does that make it now?" he asked, titling his head.

"Quiet," Saizo muttered, pulling himself upright once more. He cleared sand from his clothes, before leaning over to pick up his knives with a sigh. "Somehow I always forget that you're faster than you look," he said.

"And I often forget too, that you're easier to beat than you seem," Laslow joked.

Saizo scowled, but then turned to hide the small smile that threatened to take over his face.

One day, he will come to understand the man named Laslow in his entirety.

But until then, Saizo would take it at his own tempo.


End file.
